


treasure island, or a story of two intertwined fates

by Yeah_Im_A_Streetlight



Category: Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Movie: Mary Poppins Returns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeah_Im_A_Streetlight/pseuds/Yeah_Im_A_Streetlight
Summary: A few stories from Jane and Jack's long friendship, and relationship- partners in crime as children, best friend as teenagers, and lovers as adults. Featuring charm bracelets, smuggled books, and candlelit dinners.-----"And all the old romance, retold / Exactly in the ancient way, / Can please, as me they pleased of old, / The wiser youngsters of today: / So be it, and fall on! ”― Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island-----There weren't enough Jack/Jane stories- a tragically low amount for such an adorable pairing. So here's another.





	1. silver charms

**Author's Note:**

> December, 1912
> 
> ==
> 
> "We must go on, because we can't turn back," -Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island
> 
> ==

He couldn’t be sure of when he’d first started speaking with Jane Banks- it seemed like a very, very long time, but with Jane, you couldn’t quite be sure.

It had probably been sometime around May, or April- the cherry trees were in bloom again, and there were pink petals all over the ground. 

He always remembers little things like that.

But it had been forever now, and it was their tradition. Night would fall, and he would always be on Cherry Tree Lane when it did. Call it fate, call it luck, call it Bert, but there it was. Jane would step out onto the balcony, and sit down, stick her feet in between the posts, legs swinging. He would crawl up as far as he could- there was a wall, a fence, and if he sat just right, it was excellent for long conversations.

She wasn’t like most people he’d met. There was Bert, who would clap him on the back and try to teach him the art of chimney sweeping. There was Jack’s uncle, who was mainly just there for a bed and some food. They didn’t see much of each other. And then there were the people, the people along his routes. They would wave, smile down at him, sometimes. Or sometimes they would push by him, snap at him, pull their fancy coats far from his grimy hands. 

Jane wasn’t like any of them. She was a mysterious girl- long blonde hair, fancy dresses and nightgowns, perfectly done hair and clothes, and still Jack could see the thin layer of dirt that coated the bottom of her shoes. He asked her about it once.

“Jane, your shoes are always so dirty! Doesn’t it bother your mother?”

“Your shoes are dirty too, Jack. Why is it any different?”

“Well, that’s not what I mean. I mean, I’m a leerie, you’re a… well, what’s it from?”

“There’s a tree. On the other side of this room, another window, and I can slide down it, you see. I’ve got a path, through some brush, and when I come out, I’m in Miss Lark’s backyard!”

“Goodness!”

“Yes, but see, it’s better than you think,” Jane replied, a glint in her eye, “because I come up in her garden. And I can run all the way through it, and get even further down the street- all through bushes, or fences, and I don’t even have to let anyone see me!”  
“Don’t you get worried that you’ll be late coming back?” Jack asked, nervous. If Jane got in trouble, could they still be friends?

“Well, I always come back when I hear Big Ben chime six. I explore most nights, you see, and I’m getting further away. Soon, I’ll have been through every house this side of Cherry Tree Lane.”

“Does Michael come?”

“No. Michael stays back and watches for Father, because he’d be dreadfully angry if he knew.”

“That's not fair! His daughter’s gonna be a famous explorer, he should be proud.”

The smirk had vanished from her face. “I don’t think he cares, much, if I’m going to be an explorer. He doesn’t want me to be one.”

“Why?” Jack was indignant, “I mean, you found more tunnels than anyone! Better than us leeries, for sure.”

“He doesn’t think girls should be racing about outside, getting all dirty. He likes Michael and I to be proper, well behaved, see.”

“I expect he wouldn’t like me.”

“I expect so,” Jane sighed.

There was a beat.

“But, it doesn’t really matter,” Jane said, tilting her head, “I like you. You’re my friend. Father doesn’t even know you. And I know Michael's like you, as well.”

Jack smiled. “You better show me those tunnels sometime, Jane. The moment I’m off of work, tomorrow.”

The glint was back in her eyes. “I don’t know, Jack. What if you’re just not as great an explorer as I am? You might get stuck going through some of the cracks. Or Miss Lark could run after you with Willoughby and Andrew- that happened to Michael once.”

“I would to be a good explorer!” Jack said indignantly, and then the rest of her sentence hit him. “Michael got chased by the dogs?”

“His pants fell down, too, while he was running, Ellen tried to pretend she was angry but she was laughing too hard to scold.” Jane snorted with laughter, and Jack started to laugh too. What he wouldn’t give to run wild with the Banks children more often.

She jumped to her feet, still giggling, and thrust a fist into the sky. “Jane Banks, explorer extraordinaire! I’m like Jane out of Tarzan, but even more brave. And even more wild.”

Something caught the moonlight- a silver bracelet, clipped loosely around her wrist. It looked far too big for her tiny hand, but it was beautiful- a single charm hung from it, but he couldn’t quite make it out from his perch on the wall. “Jane, where is that bracelet from?”

Her eyes went wide, and she slipped back to her seat from earlier, legs between the bars.  
“I got it as a thank-you gift from the Czar of Russia, because I banished an evil goblin and saved the world. He even let me stay for his wife’s birthday tea.”

Jack burst into laughter, and Jane started to giggle, too, after some time. “W-what!” Jack was finally able to gasp out.

It was clear this was not true, but with Jane Banks, who would know? She only smiled, mysteriously, then stood and spun on her heel, returning to the door to her bedroom. She looked behind her once more. 

“I’ll see you again tomorrow, right, Jack?” 

Jack tipped his hat to her- Bert had been teaching him how to do that, and he had to say, it made him look pretty grown up (that is, when he managed not to drop it onto the pavement). “Of course, miss!”

“Jack, please, just call me Jane!”

Jack gave her one last smile, then hopped off the wall, swinging himself onto the secondhand bicycle and kicking off the curb. He was gone into the cobblestones and streetlamps. Until tomorrow.

She shook her head, clearing it of all thoughts except Jack. 

It was nice to have a best friend. Especially such a kind one.


	2. and smuggled books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August, 1917
> 
> ==
> 
> “... I deny your right to put words in my mouth.” - Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island
> 
> ==

Most teenagers are fond of challenging the world. Jane Banks could not say she was much of an exception.

When a person was a child, the world was magical and bright, friends and adventures and daring. When a person was nine or ten, they could run wild. No one thought to tell them what was what, because they were only a little girl.

When a person was fifteen, though, it was not “becoming” to parade through the streets. And the real world was dark, and loud, and mean, nothing like being a child. It was about being ladylike, and always making the right decisions, and Jane could say without a doubt that she didn’t like that very much.

Big Ben struck eight, somewhere off in the distance, and Jane stood up from her bed in a flourish, and she even skipped for a moment in her step, skirts twirling behind her as she headed for the window. Today was special.

There had been french doors here for as long as she could remember, and a little balcony- twisted metal, a roaring lion and a bucking unicorn, fire in their eyes- and it looked even more that way when the street lamps were lit. 

Still her favorite spot in the world. 

And of course, because it was eight o'clock on the dot, Jack was already climbing up the stone wall. She stepped out onto the balcony, glanced back and forth, and swung herself over.

They’d gotten better at this, and found a way to sit in the same place. People grew from being children. 

Jack would climb the wall, and Jane would step onto the balcony, hold tightly with her hands, and cross one leg over the fence, then the other. She’d end up on the other side, hanging on over the street, and then she’d reach out one leg until it touched the wall, hopping across while holding onto a cherry tree that happened to bridge the gap.

Maybe it was dangerous, she didn’t care much. 

“Hello, Jane!” came to her, brightly, once she was finally perched on the wall.

“Hello, Jack,” she smiled, “and no, I didn’t forget, happy birthday!”

“Well, thank you,” he said, in that stupidly hilarious mock-posh tone that they used with one another, “no, Jane, I told you not to get me anything-,”

But she was already thrusting something into his hands- wrapped tidily with the silky, shiny paper and lacy ribbons that screamed wealth, and also screamed Jane. Because she knew more than anyone how to disassociate herself from all of that. Jane was Jane, because despite the fact that she looked like a rich little girl from London, she was so much more. And despite every gift looking like it was professionally wrapped…

“It’s not much, Jack, I swear. It’s just something I bought with a little pocket money, and, well,” a mischievous glint went into her eye, “something I stole from Father.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Jane raised one eyebrow slowly. He knew that look. She was going to make sure he opened this present if it was the last thing she did.

He ran his fingers along the seams delicately, careful not to rip the paper, and slowly two things emerged. 

A book- he felt a large smile come back onto his face. It was flipped over, only the back, threaded cover visible to him, and he ran his hands over the spine carefully. 

“The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde,” Jack pronounced, grinning.

“Yes, I read it the night before I decided to give it to you. It’s quite good,” Jane said briskly, and Jack had to laugh- of course she had. She continued excitedly, “Now, that’s the thing I’ve stolen from Father. Trust me, he won’t know it’s gone. He’s got a whole library full of them. Anyway, I know you said you like to read, and I can’t let you go spending your earnings on books when I could smuggle them out for you. So this is more of a long term present- meaning, I’ll bring a book whenever I can.”

“So, a bit like an unauthorized loan,” Jack said, biting down a laugh.

Jane nodded, lips twitching with a smile. “Sure, a bit,” she said, and suddenly they were laughing together again. It was such a very Jane like gesture, so thoughtful, and nothing with Jane was ever just for a moment. It stayed with you, it was a gift she would give you every moment you were around her.

“There’s something else,” she said to him, a few moments later, once the laughter had died down, “in there, I think…” she reached into the wrapping paper, and they both ducked their heads around, looking to where this thing might have gone to, “oh, here… there it is, right.”

It was a compass, a beautiful, brass naval compass that flicked open with a lid and lay steadily on a long, metal chain. A single letter- ‘J’ was hammered into it, in exquisite, delicate script.

Jack’s breath left his lungs- it was clearly expensive, swinging back and forth as he held it up, letting it catch the light of the streetlamps. He was about to protest.

“And see, I knew you wouldn’t accept it, so if it helps, I didn’t buy it firsthand. There’s a lovely little shop with used things, little trinkets and such. The shop owner said it’s from America, and that it’s not very old, just one owner beforehand. He wasn’t sure of the name. I thought you’d like one secondhand, then there’s the story that goes with it… see, all the little dents and the ‘J’, it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

It was the most thoughtful present he could have imagined- every year she somehow managed to top the last year’s gift, this wonderful friend of his. It was less clunky now, they knew each other so well they didn’t bother with titles. They just fit with one another, they understood each other. They knew each other in spite of their background.

“It’s perfect, Jane, I-I… It’s beautiful.”

There was a flicker of uncertainty, she smiled at him out of the corner of her mouth, shyly, behind a lock of her hair, and he felt his heart swell up a bit. She had no idea what it meant for him to have such a friend, such a companion, such a partner.

“Here, if you’d like, you can put the chain around your neck, for safekeeping. It will probably fall a bit low, your stomach, I’d expect, but it works either way- here, spin around.”

And again, with her brisk, easy solutions and her planned steps ahead, Jane knew exactly what to do. She fastened the chain the perfect amount, until it fell exactly where such a thing should- so that he could pull out the loose chain and admire the compass, or let it fall underneath his sweater. 

There were a few minutes left- every night, every night since they were nine or ten or so, Jane came out at eight on the dot and Jack stayed until eight thirty- he would be done with his rounds by eight o’clock, but he had to be home by nine, and it took awhile to navigate the streets on a bike. Jane was always concerned about him riding in the dark- “on cobblestones, too, Jack, you’ll crack your head open!”- but she had to let it happen, or else they wouldn’t have time to see one another each day.

But the large, glowing clock in the distance read eight twenty six, and they lay back sideways on the wall, feet touching, a line of a head and a body and another body and another head. Jane’s hair, Jack always marveled, would spin off the ledge, flowing like a waterfall, and it would catch the moonlight so that it really looked like spun gold- something straight out of a fairy tale. 

Like most cities, you couldn’t quite see the stars, but if you tried you could make out faint dots of light- cutting through the gauzy clouds, inklings of the sky beyond.   
The sky was an interesting place- it could hold flying kites, it could change the wind, it could even snatch away a person who took you to places you never believed you could go. Maybe Jane Banks had lost touch with reality, but when she was out here, staring up at the sky, she didn’t doubt for an instant that all those things- a land inside of chalk and a man stuck on the ceiling, dogs that talked and reflections that stayed behind, carpet bags with no bottoms and umbrellas that flew- the magical memories that would wake her up in the middle of the night, smiling privately to herself, were, in fact, real. 

In the day, it was harder to imagine magic. But there was something about the night sky...

“What do you think’s up there?” Jane whispered quietly, one hand pointing straight up from her body, gesturing limply at the black-blue sky.

He hesitated… no one knew, really, for sure, but there could be light or there could be darkness, the rest of everything could end abruptly, and the universe would stop.

Instead, he replied, “Everything.”

If you squinted, you could see the stars twinkling.

And then the clock struck, one chime for the half hour, and the lion and the unicorn of wrought iron twisted out of the metal of the Banks’ balcony and seemed to move, just a bit. Their eyes glinted in the lamplight, their feet caught by the light of the moon, and they seemed to be dancing, swaying together; polar opposites unified by the absolute magic of a London sky at night.

Once again- just like every other day for five years- Jack slid off the wall, onto his bicycle, and pushed off the curb, waving a hand and smiling back at her as a means of farewell. She could see the compass necklace’s metal glinting over his top. She lifted a mirroring hand, gave him a mirroring smile, and waited until he rounded the corner of Cherry Tree Lane before extending her feet and hands back onto the balcony, one at a time, pulling herself over, and disappearing through the sturdy french doors into the same room- always the same, everything was still exactly as it had been. 

Nothing wild, nothing new.

Somehow, she was never bothered by it after she met with Jack. He had a quality of making the pennies of the world feel like riches, the cramped flats feel like mansions, the tiny stars, pinpricks in the sky, feel like everything in the universe rested behind them, just waiting for the clouds to be pushed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was a good addition! I never, ever get through stories this fast, but I've been having strokes of inspiration in the middle of the night. 
> 
> I'm about to start rambling about little details- if you're curious about the book or compass, keep reading! if not, feel free to skip this. I don't know what I'm doing here. 
> 
> I hope this chapter lives up to the first- I try to model Jack and Jane off of people I know, so they seem believable enough to me, but let me know! I hope they seem enough like teenage versions of themselves- because, sadly, we never see what that does look like.
> 
> I modeled the compass off of something my brother got for Christmas- an antique compass, from WWI. In this story, I mention that it isn't that old- they're in the midst of the war at the moment, anyway- but I have a pretty clear vision. look up antique navy compasses if you're curious.
> 
> Last thing- I decided to gift Jack "The Picture of Dorian Gray" because I feel it's a more grown up read for a 15 year old than "Treasure Island"- the original idea. After all, that's the whole theme here, but when I remember that story mentioned in the Mary Poppins books, Jane is about eight and has read it. It felt out of place. Anyway.
> 
> If you have any advice, notes, compliments, questions... feel free to comment!


	3. and candlelit dinners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June, 1935
> 
> ==
> 
> “Then it was that there came into my head the first of the mad notions that contributed so much to saving our lives.”  
> ― Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island
> 
> ==

He was pretty sure he had seen Jane last in the summer of 1925- ten years, such a fascinatingly long amount of time. 

And still, it seemed like no time at all. 

It had not been out of choice, that they stopped seeing each other. Quickly and terribly, a series of events occurred that tore the two apart- Michael Banks got married, and he and his wife moved into 17 Cherry Tree Lane, while expecting their first child.

Jack had started to train younger boys, much like Bert had trained him- it took up his time, but he still managed to drop by.

Then, George Banks fell ill. So that was the real turning point, he supposed, because the problem with it all was, Michael had the house. So Jane moved George and Winnifred across town. Then Jane moved across town. 

And it had been ten years.

There was a certain air that seemed to signify something otherworldly, something different. There was an energy. He had always been able to sense it. There was an instinct of knowing what would happen a split second before it did, an aroma of something on the horizon. It was as if he could suddenly sense things that were happening in another moment right in front of him, he could hear it, but then they were gone.

As he rode his bike over the damp cobblestones, he felt it. If Jane were here, she surely would have made this more exciting- she had always had an order to things, but a certain wonder in her mind that made it easy for her to appreciate the things that would usually be devoted to children.

There was always a sort of sensation that came to him- a tingling. Something just quite there, just quite, and then when he reached for it, when he set his mind to remembering what it was, it would vanish. Break back into dust. Why was that, what was it that he was sensing, why was it…

Nothing about that made much sense, until he found himself in the park, helping Georgie Banks pull in a kite with a woman attached to it.

“Mary Poppins,” he murmured, because all the memories were coming back now, rebuilding themselves from the dust, and he knew exactly what it was he’d been sensing. And he knew exactly how much of the world was magic, to people who cared to look deeper than the surface.

Days, minutes, seconds- time had no value here, there were just scenes in his memory, moments he’d witnessed, he’d been through, and all of a sudden they were back where they’d started. It didn’t bother him, he’d had plenty of experience with Mary Poppins.

He knew enough not to send away magic when it came knocking.

So he knew that when he found himself wondering aloud what had ever happened to Jane Banks, it was not for no reason. Mary Poppins never acted without a reason.

That reason came to him when he bumped straight into a woman carrying signs and papers stacked too high. That was when the real story began.

And there were wild twists and turns, entrances and exits to and from the wild fortress that they called their friendship. His partner in crime, his dearest friend, his oldest friend, his confidant. It was always easy to get tongue tied around Jane. It was always easy to blush in her presence. She was beautiful, she was intelligent, she was just that kind of a person.

He had always loved Jane. People liked to say that he started to see her in a new way, but he wasn’t sure that was quite true. Their friendship, their love, had never changed. They were just older. If he admitted how much he adored her, would it be new news? It was quite doubtful.

What a complicated relationship this was, what a perfect one. The little music boxes shop owners warned children not to break, dancing, tiny dolls going in circles, back to where they started. Back to where they’d always been. Not strange for them, not out of the ordinary. 

A romance was a lot like a friendship, he supposed, in some ways. He always had adored her. He always had loved her. Now, he just loved the idea of taking her to a dinner, of watching themselves be together. 

And then there were balloons- the balloon must be your match, and somehow, two balloons stuck together through the wind and clouds. Jack and Jane, Jane and Jack, always together. One and one made two. Facts of the universe were not deterred from their course.

While they were up there, Jane had turned to him, face wide with glee, and she had exclaimed, “It’s real! It’s real, and it’s magic. Jack, it’s magic!”

She took his breath away.

Also while they were up there, he noticed a quick jolt- a loss, something was gone. Someone was gone, and he knew exactly who, seeing a glimpse of a red balloon through a cloud- no, hallucinations, probably, but still. Anything was possible.

“Goodbye, Mary Poppins,” he whispered to himself, then he looked back at Jane. “And, thank you.”

 

There was minor shock at the departure of Mary Poppins, but true sadness. Everyone seemed to know it was arriving. No one knew how soon.

Still, that evening, everyone busied themselves with moving the Banks family back into 17 Cherry Tree Lane, and by the time they had finished, Michael scooped up the children to take them off to bed, all three clamoring over each other in excitement. Michael had generously offered to leave Jack and Jane alone, and though they had both blushed, it was not met with complaints.

“How would you feel if we cooked a meal? We could eat at candlelight, a sort of-,” Jack began.

“A first date, almost? Yes, that sounds lovely,” Jane followed, smiling, seemingly unfazed by the statement. Jack steadied his mind, following her into the kitchen.

After much deliberation, food was served. The cooking was not phenomenal, but it was certainly good for the amount of giggling and joking the two had done while making it.

“I was mostly expecting it to burn,” Jack admitted, laughing as he set two places across from each other at the large table.

“Oh, me too, but I suppose we’re better than we think we are,” Jane replied, striking a match and lighting a delicate candle in between the two red placemats. 

“Maybe we aren’t hopeless. Or maybe we are, and we just got out through a stroke of luck.”

“That seems more likely.”

They ate over rapid conversation, and Jack pulled out the compass that he still wore around his neck, letting her run her fingers over the dented case.

“I can’t believe you kept this!” she said in wonder.

“Of course I would, it’s my favorite of all my possessions! It’s beautiful Jane, honest,” he said, when she looked concerned, “I was so touched when you got it, and I still am. It’s beautiful.”

“And you know, now you can actually come into the house’s library yourself! I don’t have to smuggle out Wilde and Stevenson and Brontë for you anymore.”

“What a time.”

Reminiscent, that was probably the right word. Reminiscent, and slightly in love.

The candle was starting to burn down when they’d finished eating, and Jack breathed deeply.

“Jane, I was wondering if you… well, if you’d like to… what I mean is-,”

“You know,” Jane interrupted, but not rudely- she smiled at him kindly, but looked as though she was biting down a giggle, “I’ve got a question for you, Jack.”

“For- for me?”

“Yes. Would that be alright?”

“Well, yes, of course, go ahead.”

“I’ve missed you these last few years, Jack, and… well, it’s like I forgot what it feels like to have magic. And I don’t just mean flying from balloons, and the sort. No, the kind of magic that comes from sneaking around, crawling through Miss Lark’s bushes, sneaking books out of Father’s library, climbing out the french doors every night- I fully suspect Mother knew, I’m sure she did, and I don’t think she wanted to ruin it for us. Things like those, things you don’t see much when you’re an adult.”

“Being a child’s magical by itself. There’s a surprise around every corner. Of course, there still is,” he replied, slowly, “if you know where to look.”

She was just smiling at him, that very Jane smile, the sort of all knowing, glimpse into your soul smile. That certainly wasn’t new.

“Either way,” she began, brisk again, “what I meant to say, what I was getting at, is really- well, it’s very nice to have that magic back. It’s very nice to have you back, and I suppose I was wondering if you’d want to do this again- to go on some dates. I’d really like to, is all. And I know the man is traditionally supposed to ask, but…” she gestured at herself, and he understood- Jane had never been one for traditions.

It was absolutely perfect, the end to a long, rambling story- a fairy tale, perhaps, one where the princess arrives in the eleventh hour to save the knight in his everlasting battle. 

“I… I’d love to, Jane, but I can’t really- well, I can pay for enough, but I can’t afford any really fancy meals, any… I’m so sorry about that, maybe I could-,”

“Then we’ll split the bill. Or I’ll pay. Or, better yet,” she replied, eyes bright, “we can avoid going to those dreadful fancy places at all. I always found them quite pretentious.”

Her eyes were dancing, she was daring him to laugh- and he did, of course, and soon they were both laughing, almost crying with hysterical energy and emotion and the ten years locked up inside, separate, challenging. Mountain ranges stuffed inside of bottles.

“So, could I formally ask you, then?” Jack asked her suddenly, and she grinned at him, nodding. “Jane Banks, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” she replied, tilting her head charmingly.

The children were in their room, deep in sleep, but the two managed to tiptoe through it just like they had years ago- it was as though Jane was finally following the delicately traced steps she had laid out for herself, before. There were almost imprints of small, narrow, little girl’s feet dancing across the floor, creeping to the french doors.

Jack had never been out here before, but he’d watched Jane climb down from the balcony many, many times, and he followed her lead- darkness, feet testing for the right spot, quick slips and grabbing of hands, and eventually they were down on the wall- the same wall that still stood.

Looking down, Jack could see the curb that he so often threw his bicycle down onto, dropping his belongings and climbing the stone, gripping the edge to pull himself up, waiting for the clock to strike. 

It was later- far later- than they used to meet up. If they looked into the distance, Big Ben glowed with the numbers 12:02- past midnight, then. It was dark enough that it was difficult to make out much of anything, unless they knew where to look. But the stars were bright, tears in the fabric that coated the world. A glimpse into the beyond, into what was further, into something that they would never know.

If they laid backward on the wall, feet touching, they could make a chain. Linked together by arms and legs and heads, with feet and hands touching just so. Still, Jane’s hair flowed off of the wall. The stars lit it up; it was otherworldly. Terrifying. White and black, echoes and shadows trapped in between the spots that the light wouldn’t touch. It was dangerous, and it was beautiful.

“Jane?”

There was a silence.

“Yes?” she answered, slowly.

“I’m really glad I bumped into you.”

She let out a breath of laughter. “So am I. And I’m glad we’re seeing each other again.”

“Do you think we’ll forget? The balloons, the flying, the… the things they said adults don’t remember?” It was an odd fear for him, he supposed, but nevertheless.

She paused. “No. I don’t think we will.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” she paused again, contemplating. “Because adults are the people who move so quickly, they can’t focus on what’s right in front of them. Everyone else might forget, but they forget because they want to. Because they go back to life, and they don’t have space in their minds for memories that are not quite there. But if you want to-,”

“If you want to, you’ll remember.”

He could tell she’d nodded, not because he could see it, but because that was Jane- brilliant, philosophical, humble. Quiet with observation.

“There were balloons,” she said finally.

“There were balloons. And magic.”

“Yes. Magic.”

“Can we make that date on Saturday?”

“Saturday is perfect.”

If Jane peered up, she could make out the unicorn and lion twisted into the wrought iron, still locked in their eternal roars. She had always wondered what they were doing- were they defending something? Rearing back in triumph? Stuck in a battle, one that would stay etched into paper and burned into wax, one that would never be untwisted from the Banks’ balcony, in its wrought iron glory?

She supposed it didn’t really matter. A lion and a unicorn didn’t make sense to her, though the explanation was most likely simple. It didn’t matter. Not everything had to be explained.

Sometimes it was better to witness the extraordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who has read these three parts, thank you. It really means so much. I hope this last chapter was a good ending, hopefully it resolved everything. 
> 
> This story went in a very different direction from what I originally planned, but I think that it worked out for the best. Sometimes you realize that the plan wasn't right, and then it morphs itself into something crazy, but fun to write. 
> 
> Here's one thing I was concerned about- I added in the whole premise that Jack was afraid of forgetting. And I know that people might disagree- they might say Jack is kind of all knowing, maybe he remembers these kinds of magical things... Here's my explanation. The way I always saw it (with Bert, too) made me think that maybe they don't quite KNOW about the magic, beforehand, at least. There are just certain people who are more open, certain people who see all the timelines of a second at once. I think Jack and Jane are both those people, because I think it's a skill that can be obtained. That's my reasoning.
> 
> Feel free to ask any questions, or really just write anything in the comments! I might be planning another Jack/Jane story, but not just yet. So any ideas are welcomed!
> 
> Again, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed


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